


there's no nicer witch than you

by blackkat



Series: under that old black magic called love [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, First Kiss, First Meetings, Humor, Implied/Referenced Violence, M/M, Serial Killers, basically warning: Hidan, human bones used as beads, kind of?, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16438973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Hidan just wants to kill a few witches. Is that really too much to ask? He didn't sign up for loose cannon ANBU sorcerers and serial killers. Well. Serial killers besides him, at least.





	there's no nicer witch than you

“You _what_?” Hidan demands loudly.

Nagato winces, but he doesn’t back down. “I can't leave,” he repeats. “Hanzō tracked me here, and he still has my blood. He can't get past the wards, but if I go outside…”

“Fucking salamander _asshole_ ,” is Hidan's opinion. He sinks down on one of the stools behind the diner’s counter, giving Nagato a once-over, and—he doesn’t look terrible. “So what, they’ve got you sleeping in the walk-in? That’s bullshit.”

Nagato flushes, red creeping up pale cheeks, and Hidan blinks, but before he can ask Nagato says quietly, “The owner has an apartment under the diner. He’s letting me stay with him.”

Hidan isn't stupid, and he’s got fucking _eyes_. Nagato is a fine piece of ass, even if he is one of the most powerful sorcerers currently in existence. He scoffs, thumping a fist against the counter, and the bone beads wrapped around his wrist rattle threateningly. “If this fucker is making you sleep with him—”

“ _Hidan_ ,” Nagato protests, so red in the face that he’s probably about to faint. “I'm not—Minato hasn’t asked—”

Rolling his eyes, Hidan drops back onto his stool. “And if he did you'd say yes,” he says, because that’s obvious. “Why don’t you just jump his dick and show him how grateful you are? Put yourself out of your fucking misery. No guy’s gonna say no to a hot piece of tail like you riding his cock.”

With a quiet sound that could be surrender, but could also signify that his face is so hot his brain is melting, Nagato buries his face in his arms and sinks down behind to counter until all Hidan can see is the top of his red hair.

“You fucking _know_ I'm right,” Hidan tells him, and Nagato bats at the counter like he’s trying to banish Hidan. It’s not going to work; more than one person has tried, and Hidan is still here.

Still, Nagato not being able to leave this shitty little diner leaves Hidan in a tight spot. He’d been counting on having a sorcerer of Nagato's strength to cover his tracks, and without that his life just got a fucking lot harder. With a huff, he taps his knuckles against the counter, considering. He could—

The door to the kitchen swings open, and the teenage boy in the entrance freezes sharply, eyes flickering from Nagato on the floor to Hidan on the stool and back again. “Nagato?” he asks, and that tone is all sharp edges with a roil of power under it. It shivers over Hidan's skin, crashes through his veins like adrenaline, and he’s on his feet in an instant, rising—

A thin hand draped in bangles and woven bracelets catches his wrist, and Nagato pushes him back. “No, Hidan,” he says softly, but firmly.

“Fuck,” Hidan mutters, but he doesn’t try to shove Nagato away—couldn’t even if he wanted to, as he’s learned several times over. He flops back down into his seat, then gives the silver-haired boy a wide toothy grin. “Hey, you look hot. Wanna come sit on my lap?”

“No,” the boy says, immediate and dry as dust. He looks Hidan over, and then asks, “Are you _twelve_? Should you really be talking like that?”

Hidan splutters. “Fuck you, I'm sixteen!” he protests.

Nagato laughs a little, hiding it behind a hand. “Hidan is a friend,” he tells the stranger. “From Ame.”

That’s bending the truth more than a little, but Hidan isn't about to correct him, especially if he’s not going to be able to get Nagato's help clouding memories and erasing trails. It is a reminder, though, and he curses at himself, digs into the inside pocket of his jacket and comes up with a small, paper-wrapped package. Nagato catches it as it slides across the counter, and the moment his fingers touch it his breath catches.

“Call them,” Hidan tells him. “I've fucking had enough of that shitty bastard crying on my shoulder, and Konan's in a right fucking mood all the time. They thought you had kicked it after Hanzō went balls to the wall to find you.”

With a wince, Nagato slides the package of letters into an apron pocket. “I will,” he promises, then glances at the other teenager with a smile. “Kakashi, did you need something?”

Grey eyes flicker over Hidan again, then slide to Nagato. “Minato called,” he says blandly. “The train got stopped outside of Konoha for track maintenance, but he should be home by tonight. Kushina told him she was going to drop by in a few minutes, though.”

This time Nagato's smile is something bright and almost blinding, and Hidan squints at him, bewildered by the sudden happiness. This isn't the morose bastard he knew in Ame, that’s for sure.

“Just Kushina?” he asks, and there's a gentle tease in the words.

Kakashi turns his nose up. “And some friends,” he says loftily, a little lazy. “Shikaku and his apprentice, Chōza and one of his students—”

“—and Obito,” Nagato finishes for him.

With a noncommittal hum, Kakashi collects a stack of napkins from behind the bar and moves around to start restocking tables. “I didn’t ask,” he says.

Nagato just shakes his head, turning back to Hidan. “ANBU,” he warns quietly, and Hidan stiffens, bristles. He opens his mouth to loudly demand what the hell Nagato is thinking, sticking around for that kind of thing, but Nagato touches the back of his wrist in a glancing graze that makes Hidan's skin shiver with the backwash of his power, and then says, “One of them is my cousin, but…be careful.”

Shit. Of course someone in Nagato's family would end up as a badge. Hidan gives him a pissy look, but Nagato just rolls his eyes and leans across the counter, dropping his voice.

“I’ll see if I can work up a charm that will do the same thing as my spells,” he says softly. “Give me a few days?”

Hidan huffs, because he’d wanted to start immediately, already has a target picked out, but…Jashin will understand a brief delay. Time doesn’t mean much to gods, even ones that agree to tie themselves to warlocks.

“Fine,” he says, and pushes to his feet. “You working Saturday?”

Nagato's smile is wry. “Even if I'm not, I’ll be here.”

Right. That’s the whole problem, isn't it? If Hidan had a little more power, if he knew what Hanzō did with Nagato's blood, he’d have the asshole at the top of his list of targets. As it is, the best he can do is make sure Nagato doesn’t have a reason to go wandering around the city. If Nagato really does bite it, Yahiko will never stop crying. And, more importantly, Konan will be out for blood. Hidan likes chaos, but that’s a little too much even for him.

“Watch yourself,” he warns, then shoves his hands in his pockets and nods his head to Kakashi, who eyes him warily in return. If Hidan looks at him sideways and tips his head a little, he can feel the shimmering, twisting strands of chaos that wind around him, the touch of something _other_ that makes Jashin’s influence pay him just a little more attention than normal even with Nagato like a hurricane of power beside him. Interesting, and—

Nagato catches his wrist again, squeezing gently. “Hidan,” he says, so soft it’s barely audible even just across the counter. “There's another warlock here, in the sewers. I don’t know who you’re after—”

“Anyone I can get,” Hidan says with a laugh, and grins at him, all teeth. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll stick to witches. No sorcerers for me. ANBU's fucking insane.”

“Just—you be careful as well.” Nagato lets him go, the shivering heat of his power lingering on Hidan's skin for a long moment, and he smiles wryly. “Well. Careful for you.”

Hidan snickers, but gives him a salute and steps away, grabbing his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. The strands of bone beads click together, light and almost musical, and he ignores the sharp look Kakashi gives him. They look like animal bones; even if ANBU stops him over them, Hidan's got every right to carry them, as long as no one looks too closely.

Before he can take so much as another step, though, the bell above the door jangles, and Kakashi’s head immediately whips around­—not towards the door, but away from it. Hidan blinks, but Nagato's eyes are widening, flickering to Hidan for one brief moment before he puts on a smile and says, “Welcome.”

ANBU, then. Fuck. Hidan contemplates sliding back onto his seat, keeping his head down and ordering food so they don’t mark him as suspicious, but that’s a hell of a lot more exposure to magical cops than he’s comfortable with.

“Morning, Nagato,” a voice says, young—probably Kakashi’s age, though Hidan isn't turning around to look. “Bakashi, you stayed out of trouble. That’s surprising.”

“I really think I should be the one saying that,” Kakashi retorts, and drops the napkins on the bar. A figure moves to meet him, a boy with deep scars carved into one side of his face, dark hair and dark eyes and _power_. It’s like Kakashi’s threads of chaos, but magnified a thousand-fold, black and brilliant and burning. Hidan sucks in a breath, just taking in the feel of that strength, and it’s so tempting, so _promising_ —

The boy leans in, kissing Kakashi, and it’s easy and familiar and sweet enough that Hidan kind of wants to gag. When he pulls back, he’s smiling, and Kakashi’s face has finally lost the edge of suspicion that he’s been carrying since Hidan first saw him.

“Something’s wrong,” Kakashi concludes, but he hasn’t stopped smiling. “You're only sweet when you're worried.”

The boy flushes, glaring at him, and thumps him in the shoulder. “Fuck you, I'm never sweet. And—”

With a chime, the door swings open again, and Hidan has to very consciously keep from going stiff. There's a big man in an ANBU uniform just coming in, his hair a wild fall of spiky red down his back, his magic like a tightly contained tide. Just a step behind him is a teenage boy a little older than Kakashi, and the way his eyes flicker over Hidan is sharp, assessing, careful. Hidan doesn’t trust that smile any further than he can spit, and he trusts the needle-sharp metal the guy’s chewing on even less. Either some kind of blood magic or runics with a tool like that, and both of them are headaches.

“Is Minato back yet?” the man asks, with a familiar nod at Nagato, though the tight line of his mouth says he’s too worried for formalities. “A witch has been snatching former hexers and leaving their bodies all around the city. Minato is high-profile after all cases he worked, and he needs to be twice as careful as normal.”

Kakashi’s eyes widen, and Hidan shoots a sharp look at Nagato, who looks perfectly composed, if slightly concerned. Purple eyes flicker to Hidan, and where they’re resting on the counter his long fingers trace a shape, pause, and then repeat it.

 _Oh_ , Hidan thinks, and looks up at him, then turns for the door. Behind him, Kakashi says, “I just got off the phone with him. His train is going to be arriving in about an hour, and I can meet him at the station—”

“I think you should probably stay here,” the boy with the black choker and the needle says, perfectly mild, and he steps aside so Hidan can get past him with a perfectly easy smile that makes Hidan twice as wary. His gaze slides from Hidan to Nagato and then back, and he tips his head in a simple greeting.

“Thank you for the letters,” Nagato says, just belatedly enough to feel distracted, and Hidan wants to laugh. Ame might be a little more lax in its laws about magic, but he and Nagato both know how to hide in plain sight from their years there. All the little tricks, all the misdirections, all the concealing spells and ways to get people to dismiss what they notice.

“No problem,” he says with a grin, turning around to give Nagato a lazy salute. “Fucking call Konan before Yahiko has another meltdown.”

“I will,” Nagato promises, giving him a small smile, and Hidan pushes past the ANBU man and the sharp-eyed teenager without pause, stepping out onto the street. He takes a second to reorient himself, but—the station is probably east of here, if he remembers his arrival right. Or maybe west? Hidan got really fucking lost looking for the diner, but he _knows_ he crossed the river to get here.

“Fuck,” Hidan mutters, scratching his head as he squints at the dingy sign on the corner.

There's a huff of amusement from behind him, sudden enough to startle, and a voice asks, “Lost?”

Hidan twitches, jerks around. _More_ ANBU, though this time the man in the uniform gives Hidan a single glance before he steps into the diner. The one who spoke is another apprentice, a boy with shaggy dark hair and the beginnings of stubble like he’s either trying to grow a beard or can't be bothered to shave. There's amusement on his face, but instead of going inside he approaches Hidan, hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Fuck this city,” Hidan says vehemently. “Where the fuck is the river?”

One brow rises, but the boy turns, pointing…whatever direction that is. Probably south. “That way,” he says. “Seven blocks, or something like that. Looking for something in particular?”

Given that Hidan has no idea where to go _after_ he crosses the river, it’s probably better to ask. “Yeah, the train station,” he says. And then, because throwing people off his trail is always a good thing, adds, “Headed back to Ame.”

Interest flickers across the boy’s face. “Ame? I've always wanted to go there.”

“It’s nice when it’s not raining,” Hidan allows, because Yu had rain, but nothing like Ame. He still hasn’t gotten used to it, but Ame at least doesn’t kill hexers on principle.

The guy tips his head, frowning a little. “Isn’t it always raining?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hidan confirms, and when the guy laughs, startled, he grins. Fuck, he’s picky about people’s faces, but this guy’s got a nice one. Needs a haircut, but ANBU probably doesn’t leave a lot of time for that shit.

“I'm Asuma,” the guy says. “I don’t think I can give you directions that make sense, but I can show you the way, if you want. It’s not too far a walk.”

Sticking with ANBU seems like a really fucking bad idea. Hidan chews on it for a moment, then glances at the badge hanging from Asuma's belt. “You sure you’ve got the time?” he asks.

Asuma snorts softly. “Shikaku and Chōza in the same room means they’ll hang around for hours,” he says, and a tip of his head indicates the diner behind them. “We’re off-duty, anyway.”

It’s still a bad idea, but…Hidan's never been one for just picking the good ones. And besides, what are the odds that a walk to the train station will out Hidan as a warlock who kills witches for sport? Slim, probably. Konan might say differently, but Hidan's pretty confident.

“Sure,” he says, giving Asuma a grin that’s equal parts challenge and invitation. “Arm candy’s always good.”

Asuma blinks, blinks again, and then chuckles. “I thought that was my line,” he says, and holds out his arm with a faintly mocking slant to his mouth. “Mutual arm candy, then?”

“Fuck yeah.” Hidan doesn’t hesitate to grab his arm, getting his fingers on the skin of Asuma's wrist as he presses up against Asuma's side. There's a pulse of fire under his fingertips, ash and dust and embers, and it’s faint but it’s steady. Not anything close to Nagato's power level, but then, most people aren’t. Some _gods_ probably aren’t. Asuma's strong for a sorcerer, though.

There's a whisper in Hidan's head, Jashin’s voice and intent, but it’s not focused on Asuma, turned elsewhere. The sensation doesn’t lead in a definite direction yet, but it’s steady enough that this feels like the right choice, and Hidan falls into step with Asuma quickly enough. The direction is right, at least, and if Hidan breathes in deeply he can smell something like blood on the wind. Konoha has a he of a lot more witches than Ame, and a thrill like adrenaline stitches itself into Hidan's veins. He can't _wait_ to start hunting.

Of course, first he’s got to make sure that Nagato's sugar daddy makes it home from the station alive. Hopefully Nagato will be willing to count that towards the price of the charm, because slaughtering witches hasn’t exactly left Hidan rolling in cash.

“Have you been in Konoha long?” Asuma asks, and it sounds idle, like small-talk, but he’s watching Hidan instead of the street, and his expression is attentive, maybe something like interested.

“Just got in this morning,” Hidan says, and makes a disgusted sound. “It took me all damn day to find that shitty diner. Next time Nagato's friends want letters delivered they can hire a fucking courier.”

“You know Nagato?” Asuma raises a brow, glancing back at the diner even though it’s out of sight behind them.

Hidan snickers. “Yeah, his friends’ve got a boarding house in Ame. They freaked the hell out when Nagato left, and I said I’d hunt him down in exchange for rent.”

Asuma makes a sound of acknowledgement. “You might want to be careful,” he says mildly, and glances up. There's a looming building, taller than the rest, and in its shadow is a narrow side street shaded with massive old trees.

“Careful?” Hidan repeats with a frown. “What the hell are you—”

A sharp pull drags Hidan to the left, into the side street. He yelps, stumbles, finds his footing and turns sharply, throwing an elbow—

Asuma catches it, light flaring like a spray of sparks around his fingers. He shoves Hidan back, behind a gnarled tree that’s growing right up against an old brownstone, and pins him against the bricks with his body, a hard impact that drives the breath from Hidan's lungs. With a snarl, he lashes out, but Asuma catches his wrist, pins it against the green bark of the tree, and deliberately, threateningly sets a finger against the line of Hidan's throat.

There's power under his skin, gathering like a storm. Hidan goes still, eyes narrowing, teeth bared, and he doesn’t try to move. He has a knife in his jacket pocket, a collapsible spear tucked against his skin. If he needs to kill Asuma, he’s got options, but killing an ANBU apprentice is a bad enough idea that even Hidan is wary of it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands.

Dark eyes catch and hold his, and Asuma smiles, bare and amused. “You're the one who’s been killing witches all over the country,” he says, and Hidan freezes, eyes widening. Asuma's smile deepens into a smirk, and he leans in, until they’re practically nose to nose. “Those beads on your bracelet. They're made from finger bones. The finger bones of a witch named Fudō.”

 _Shit_. There's no hint of uncertainty in Asuma's words, no hesitation. His gaze is perfectly steady, and his grip is tight but not painful. Hidan stares at him, and—

He doesn’t look hostile. There's no anger in his face, just satisfaction. That fucking _smirk_ , and Hidan shouldn’t want to kiss it off his damned face but he _does_.

“How the fuck do you know that?” he demands.

Asuma huffs a laugh, lets his hand drop from Hidan's throat, deliberately removing the threat, even if he stays pressed up against Hidan. “I was one of the sorcerers who stopped Fudō from destroying Konoha,” he says. “But he got away.”

“Not for long,” Hidan says, still viciously satisfied by that kill, and Asuma chuckles, leans in even further.

“I guess not,” he says, and something heavy and dark with magic slips past Hidan's fingers, slides over his hand and drops around his wrist. He jerks, snarls, expecting a handcuff, a seal—

A bracelet of dark metal slides down to click against his bone bracelets, a thick black bangle that feels like secrets and hidden things. Hidan's breath catches as the power of it settles across his skin, sweeping out to cover him, and he shivers at the sensation.

“It will hide your magic,” Asuma says, still smirking. “No one will be able to track you by the signature, no matter how much you use. Just stick to witches, all right?”

“What?” Hidan asks, entirely baffled. “What the _fuck_? Aren’t you fucking _ANBU_?”

“Think of it as outsourcing,” Asuma says, and leans back, though his eyes don’t leave Hidan's. “You can find witches ANBU can't. I don’t care how you do it as long as they're not a problem anymore.”

Hidan has to doublecheck that that really is an ANBU sorcerer’s badge on Asuma's belt, because he’s pretty damn sure ANBU aren’t supposed to talk like that. Their whole thing is controlling hexers and keeping magic in check. Killing warlocks is pretty high up on the list there, too.

“You're a vicious little dickhead, aren’t you?” he says, and has to laugh, relaxing back against the wall.

Asuma hums lightly, easily. “Practical,” he corrects, though not like he particularly cares. His fingers close around Hidan's wrist, rubbing over the pulse as he slides his thumb down to brush the bangle, and he warns, “I have the twin of this one, so I’ll be able to track it. No one else, though.”

Just that warning is unexpected. Every last damn thing about this is, though. Hidan has to laugh, has to pull Asuma in again and hook his arms around his neck, dragging him down. “Who the fuck even _are_ you?” he snickers.

“Does it matter?” Asuma counters, but he doesn’t resist, lets Hidan pull his head down until their noses brush and Hidan can see the amused crinkle around his eyes.

“Fucking obviously,” Hidan laughs. “I think this means we’re going steady, asshole. You give me witches to kill, I want to do nice things for you too.”

“Nice,” Asuma repeats, skeptical, but he’s smiling, too.

Hidan grins at him, all teeth. “You’ve got no fucking idea how nice I can be,” he promises, and the power curls between them like a promise, like a living thing.

“I think I’d like to find out,” Asuma says, and his eyes are dark and steady and warm as Hidan closes the distance between them for a kiss.


End file.
